


Into Nothing

by lmeden



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is sleeping in the back seat tonight...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Nothing

He is sleeping in the back seat tonight, and it isn’t even his back seat. It’s no one’s back seat, really; he is in an abandoned car on the outskirts of the city, dried up and shriveled with the time that has passed it over and the sands that have nearly covered it, blowing up and around the tires and miring it forever to rot. But, though dirty, the dry weather of North Africa has preserved the leather of the seats, and they have only cracked open in places, perfect to sleep upon.

The city is too dangerous tonight. He was nearly caught working earlier, and has had to flee for a short time. He failed his job tonight, and will have to wait before returning to the city and dealing with his contractor. Arthur gathers his heavy leather jacket around his shoulders and shifts, curling up on his side. The desert is deceptively cold at night. And the sun is beginning to rise, the sky to lighten. His body aches, he is exhausted, and he cannot sleep.

Sighing, Arthur sits up and leans against the back seat, top rotted away and exposing the car to the morning, air. He takes in a deep breath, and feels the coldness of it tremble through him. The desert really is stunning – the endless plains and stars shining brilliant above. He has always imagined that the sea would be something like this, if one were lost upon it.

He turns his head to the side and sees the city, almost half a mile away. Sitting on top of the sands, glittering. A few lights are coming closer, moving up and down in pairs. Cars, Arthur thinks, lying back down for a moment, the cars coming closer, but he doesn’t care who sees him now. The job is unfinished, but he has spent some time out of the city. He doesn’t believe the issue is worth worry anymore. Let them look at him now, in this mired car.

The cars come quickly – their engines sound far away and weak for several moments, and then they are roaring past him on the dry, dusty road, passengers leaning out the open tops, waving and calling to him. Arthur raises a hand in response and then moves, crouching on top of the seat, preparing to jump out. Once they have all gone past, he’ll begin the walk back to the city.

But one of the cars, slows, and then stops. A man leans out, his white clothing darkened to gray in the weak light. His eyes are dark holes, rendering him anonymous.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” he calls in the local language.

Arthur does not speak it, though he comprehends it well, and so he simply nods back, and smiles.

The man turns back inside, speaking to his friends, and Arthur expects him to drive away. But he doesn’t, and instead turns back to Arthur again. “ _Come with us!_ ”

The offer is surprising, and warming. Not many people - or anyone, really – will offer a stranger a ride in their car. Especially a foreign stranger. He doesn’t know how to respond, for a moment. But he has nowhere to go, and nothing to do today. He is free to do whatever he wishes, and somehow idly walking the city does not hold appeal. The weight of his gun is heavy at the small of his back. Even if these people have…unsavory reasons for waiting him to come along, he has no fear for his safety. He can care for himself. So he nods, jumps from the car and onto the sand, and swings himself up into the larger SUV.

The man laughs and shifts over, offering Arthur a place on the seat next to him. With a jolt, they are off. There are four men in the car. One gives Arthur a quick, searching glance and looks away. Two others watch him, their gazes narrowed and suspicious. Only the single man who invited him in is friendly, and begins chatting on about his business – selling something, apparently, though Arthur only half listens.

He is entranced by the swift wind in his hair, brushing it constantly into and out of his eyes, and the jolt of the car over bumps in the road, sending him leaning into the men on either side of him – the heat of their bodies against him an unusual feeling for Arthur. The man prattles on, telling Arthur about his wife and family and, finally, what they are doing; sand dune driving, riding fast, up and over the high dunes a few miles outside of the city. Arthur has heard the pastime mentioned, and know that it is supposedly heady, like the roller coasters that he grew up around in America. He leans closer to the man who is talking and smiles. This could be very fun.

Suddenly the man reaches up and, looking around, Arthur sees the other men, even the driver, doing the same. They seize ahold of the bars the rises up above the seats and serve as the only roof on the car. “ _We’re here!_ ” the man calls gleefully, and with that they turn off the road.

With a jolt, Arthur flies up, off the seat, glimpsing other cars in the distance, great plumes of fine sand growing behind them as they roar across the dunes, and then he is slammed back down onto the seat. The other men are half standing, using the overhead bars to brace themselves, and smiling wickedly. Arthur reaches up and seizes the bar, bracing himself for the next bump in the sand. And just in time.

The car flies up again, slamming down, but Arthur makes it. They roar across the desert, the car’s engine screaming at the strain of tearing up hills and falling down into valleys. But it holds together, and halfway through, Arthur realizes that he is laughing.

It is terribly freeing, riding across the desert with all its complexities and dangers as if it is nothing. He grins at the man next to him, who grins widely back, his teeth flashing white. The grey morning light pours across them, the dunes and car, throwing everything into sharp relief. The wind cuts through them, cold, but there is too much adrenaline running through Arthur for him to feel the chill. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

Finally they draw up, slowing at the top of one of the hills. Arthur can see the road – just a few dunes away, and it feels as if they have traveled so far, when the road is still right there – curving away towards the distant lights of the city.

Quieter, now, the men all step from the car. They stretch, reaching up to the sky and speaking softly, as if the silence of the desert must not now be disturbed. Arthur follows them. The sand is slippery under his feet but he stays upright, flexing his shoulders and hands.

One of the men nearby lights a cigarette, and it glows deep red at the tip. Arthur glances at him once, and then back. It might be the same man who invited him into the car, and it might not. But Arthur knows him. This is the man that he was contracted to kill, the night before, the man that he could not find, the job of assassination that he failed. What luck, to have found him, or have been found, this morning.

Arthur shifts, gazing at the man who is looking across the desert waves. He listens to the men talking nearby, but does not hear them. Swiftly, he reaches down, under his heavy jacket, and pulls out his gun. It is fully loaded, he knows.

He holds the gun up, bracing it with one hand. He catches a flash of the white of the man’s eye as he begins to turn and then he has fired a single echoing shot, and the man is falling, tumbling down the dune and leaving scattered pockmarks behind in the sand. His cigarette burns on the ground.

There is a sudden silence, and then shouting. Arthur turns and fires one, two, three more shots. The men fall quickly, lying still, the sand soaking up their blood and whisking it away.

Arthur holds the gun away from himself. He will wait for it to cool before he tucks it away in his waistband. He glances at the car and considers taking it back with him, but that would be too much of a hassle. Best to leave it here and walk back. Any footprints will be swept away by the wind within the hour.

He begins to walk away, silent. It is a shame that he could not ride back with those men, screaming across the desert like some primordial legend, master of all that they saw. But, Arthur reflects as he commences the long walk, this is another kind of mastery altogether.

One that he would not forsake for all the pleasures in the world. The car’s engine, idly purring behind him, ebbs to nothing.


End file.
